


"john winchester"

by Selador



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkwardness, Bromance, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:05:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selador/pseuds/Selador
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Adam did was google “John Winchester” one evening while he procrastinated studying for his human physiology midterm, and the course of the entire Apocalypse changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Google Is The Patron Saint of College Students

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote a thing! Based on my musings the other day about how, if Adam was 19-years-old and a freshman in college in the year 2009, he never thought to google his father even once.

Adam had his dorm’s blinds shut, and all of his lights on in his room to convince his body that it was still a reasonable time to study. It wasn’t, and his body was not falling for it, but the attempt made him feel less panicked about the upcoming human physiology midterm.

Tapping his pen against his notebook, he reread the same phrase explaining blood types and inheritance yet again. In short hand, he wrote it on a flashcard.

_Types A and B are dominant genetic traits. Type O (represented as i) is not. Therefore, if Bobby’s mother is Type A with the genotype AA and his father is Type O with the genotype ii, then Bobby’s blood type must be Type A (genotype Ai)._

Adam loved human physiology, he really did. He wanted to become a paramedic. He wanted to be able to respond to emergencies, any emergencies, regardless of who was hurt, regardless of how much money they had, and save their lives.

But right now, his eyeballs were fucking hurting, _dammit_. He rubbed his palms against his eyes, which only made them hurt more. It still felt good.

Adam checked across the room to where his roommate, Jake, was sleeping soundly. The only really great thing about Jake as a roommate was that Jake slept with earplugs and a night mask, so he was effectively dead to the world and Adam could do whatever he wanted and not worry about him.

They didn’t really connect, but Adam never understood his classmates whose best friends were their roommates. Seriously, what were the chances?

Focus. Mid-term. Medical career. Adam could do this.

The fine, black print blurred and refused to right itself when Adam blinked and shook his head.

Okay, fine. Fifteen minute break starting at 2:08.

Adam stretched and went for his laptop.

He checked his email, Facebook. Some of his other classmates were online, and Adam briefly thought about chatting with one of them or meeting up, but he got a message before he could decide.

Natalie McConnell: _hey man u studying??_

Adam Milligan: _yeah you?_

Natalie McConnell: _yeah. having problems focusing. wanna study together?_

Studying with someone else usually let Adam get through more. Peer pressure to focus, and you had someone to relax with in-between. He replied: _yeah sure where?_

Natalie McConnell: _cafe. i need coffee, i still have five chapters to get through._

Adam Milligan: _shit, yeah, you do need coffee. be there in 10_

Natalie McConnell is offline.

Adam closed his laptop, shoved it in his bag along with his books, and left.

...

Natalie’s tall, curvy figure was hidden almost entirely in her hoodie. Fortunately, her blond hair made her an easy beacon to find even when sitting and slouched, and Adam joined her at a corner table in their University’s café. She had a cup of coffee already.

“Which class are you studying for?” Natalie asked. She held up her books on—what?

“Shakespeare?” Adam asked when he saw the title of _Much Ado About Nothing_. “Why are you reading Shakespeare at two in the morning?”

“I might have forgotten that we need to write a paper analyzing it, and that this paper is one of two that we have in the class,” Natalie grinned sheepishly. “Whoops.”

“Well, at least that one’s easy. Talk about modern interpretations. Then you’ll get to watch some movies.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan. Still need to read it though. Half-way there! By four, I should be done. Then I can start writing.”

Adam grimaced. “Make sure you edit your work before you turn it in.”

“What, you don’t think my professor would enjoy sleep-deprived spelling mistakes?”

“You’d have to make the argument you’re making new words, like Shakespeare did.”

Natalie laughed. “Knowing Frankelson, she might get a kick out of that.”

Adam took out his human physiology book and notes, opened them, and they quieted. It was nice to have a change of scenery, but after an hour passed, the words began to blur again and he had to get himself some coffee.

“Dude, take a break. Browse for porn or something,” suggested Natalie helpfully.

Adam felt his face heat up. Now he didn’t want to get his computer out or else Natalie might think he was actually going to listen to his suggestion.

“Oh, come on, I didn’t mean it like that!” Natalie laughed, patting him playfully on the arm. “Chill. Take out your computer and don’t browse for porn. It’s all good.”

“So glad to have you direct my life,” said Adam, who nonetheless took out his computer. Checking his email and Facebook turned up nothing, but Adam wanted to think of something else.

It wasn’t even a fully-formed thought that had Adam idly type in “John Winchester” in the Google search and enter it.

Adam was chewing on his pen as the first results showed up. He clicked on the first one.

The _FBI Most Wanted_ list.

Adam felt a bitter liquid spread in his mouth. He bit through the pen.

Adam scanned through the list of his crimes. John Winchester was wanted for multiple counts of murder, arson, kidnapping, breaking and entering, impersonating police and FBI, and wanted for questioning on several other investigations.

How far did this go back? wonder Adam with a cold feeling in his chest.

It only took a little bit of digging. Adam’s mom must have never searched for John Winchester online. She could have, easily. She must have just not been interested. And managed to miss that she let a man into her house who was on the FBI’s Most Wanted for _murder_ among other things.

Adam looked through the other searches. His heart was pounding. He didn’t need that coffee anymore. Natalie glanced up at him, concerned, but he reassured her with a shaky smile.

This was not something he wanted to share.

He found more. Disappearances, bodies, a trail of crimes left in the wake of John Winchester. Eventually, Adam found the article that chilled him to his bones and made his stomach churn uneasily.

John Winchester had been married to Mary Campbell. They had had two boys together.

She had died on November 2, 1983 in a house fire. John Winchester had been suitably distressed and traumatized by the death of his wife, but had suddenly disappeared from town with his two boys a few days later. Just in time to avoid questioning about her autopsy which revealed that she had been disemboweled before burnt.

John Winchester was the top suspect.

Adam left Natalie at the cafe. He couldn’t remember what he said and later had to text Natalie to apologize for leaving so rudely, but he went back to his room to continue his search.

Wait, Jake was sleeping there. To the library it was.

Adam just needed some fucking privacy.

Adam claimed a corner study room, far away from anyone who would have any reason to venture into the library at this hour. Closing the door of the room, even as quietly as possible, felt like added protection from the world that Adam dearly needed.

Like ripping off a band-aid, Adam kept his internet search.

John Winchester’s crimes were joined eventually by Dean Winchester, who had his own page on FBI’s Most Wanted. Along with his younger brother, Sam Winchester.

Oh god, was this really as bad as Adam was imagining?

What did a man have to do to indoctrinate his own sons into his life of crime and mass murder?

John Winchester disappeared from news reports at some point two years before. Instead, Dean and Sam Winchester became so much more prominent. They did all their father did. Dean even had some torture on his list of crimes.

They were both listed presumed dead as of last year. Also a fire.

Adam felt sick. He brought up John Winchester’s face on the Most Wanted list and remembered that man who entered his mother’s home, took Adam to a baseball game, and kissed his mother softly on the cheek.

Adam pulled up Dean’s and Sam’s photos next.

How lucky was Adam compared to these two.

...

Adam called his mom and told her everything. Together, they looked through all of the public case files and news reports.

“It seems like they’re all dead,” commented Katie. A woman who was not prone to panic, she had taken the attitude that it seemed unlikely that either John or his sons were even still alive, forget coming back for them. “That would explain why we hadn’t heard from John for these past two years.”

Katie did not seem perturbed by this news. Although it took a great deal to faze her, Adam suspected she genuinely cared that little about John. She had freely admitted to Adam before that had Adam not requested it, she never would have contacted John to inform him he had a son in the first place. If Adam were to make a decision now if he wanted his father to know about his existence, he would answer no. At twelve, Adam wanted a semblance of normal, particularly with a mother who was considered abnormal by so many of his community. At nineteen, he found his father’s presence in his life to have been unnecessary. His mother was all he needed.

“Yeah,” said Adam. Finding all of this out was disturbing. Maybe it was how Luke Skywalker felt? But it didn’t make an impact on their lives either way. He felt better now that his mom knew, but now he was left tired, stressed, and unprepared for his classes. “That’s all. I gotta go.”

The thing about Adam’s mother was that as supportive and open-minded as she was, she was also scarily observant. “Sweetie, did you sleep at all last night? You don’t sound very good.”

“I was studying late and then found this,” Adam admitted.

“So, what, you didn’t sleep? Adam, that’s not healthy. That’s how most college students get sick or have mental breakdowns,” and as a nurse, she would know.

“I’m not going to have a mental breakdown.”

“You better not. You get sick, you take the day off and rest. You get mentally sick, you take the day off and rest. Or you call me.”

Adam smiled despite his tiredness and the shitty feeling gathering in his head. “I know, Mom. Thanks.”

“Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

He hung up, feeling better.

Honestly, John Winchester and his other sons never would have crossed Adam’s mind again after that if it hadn’t been for the Apocalypse.


	2. A Nurse With A Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving her gun to her bedroom saved Kate Milligan's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dislike the name of this fic, so I'm going to work on changing it. Just FYI.

It would be no one’s greater surprise than Adam Milligan that Kate Milligan owned a gun. Moreover, it had been there since he was a baby. The gun was locked in the topmost cupboard in the kitchen that Adam, when he was a child, could have never reached.

The gun itself was a Taurus 22B, chosen by Kate for the easy load of the first round, something she thought would be useful in the situations she feared.

In the twenty years she had lived in her current home, she had never had to use it. In its cupboard in the kitchen it would have stayed, out of mind and unused, if not for Adam’s phone call about John.

With careful deliberation, Kate decided that even if the records said that John and his other sons were dead (and she had gone over all of the information Adam had found), it would still be safer to have the gun in a more convenient location.

People like that, who left pain and death in their wake, left survivors too. Survivors who would want any kind of revenge they could manage, and if they couldn’t get it on John or his other sons, they might turn to Kate and Adam.

The kitchen as the original location for the gun had been chosen as it was the highest place Kate could find in which she could install a lockable compartment. As Adam was growing up, she found she spent the majority of time in the kitchen or the living room with her son than in most other places.

Although the most common situation she feared would be burglary, she kept rope in both her room and her son’s room (and taught Adam how to use it to leave via the window) for that situation. She would rather run than shoot somebody else. Especially since the type of cases she worried about were burglaries. She’d rather they take everything than have anyone be hurt.

A burglary was one thing. The idea that someone would come for their material possessions was fine so long as Kate and Adam could get out okay. Someone seeking revenge, seeking to harm her or her son—that was entirely different.

And so the gun found itself relocated to Kate’s bedroom.

It was so very, very fortunate that it had.

It was only a few weeks after Adam called, two weeks after Kate’s decision to move the gun, that she had to use it.

Oddly enough, it was against Joe Barton, who had always been unusually nice to Kate and Adam. At first Kate had thought he was interested in her sexually, but it never went beyond his asking how she and Adam were getting along, and offering help when she needed it. He never asked for anything in return, and Kate had to conclude that he was just genuinely generous.

(It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had tried to get sex from her by putting her in his debt. Kate had had a rough patch financially when Adam was a toddler.)

After Kate was in her pyjamas, someone knocked on the door. Seeing it was Joe Barton, she opened it.

Smiling, he asked if he could come in.

Smiling, he tried to grab her.

Kate ran upstairs and locked the door to her bedroom. She went to her bedside table and grabbed the gun and the ammo.

She loaded the barrel and stood in-between the bed and the door. When a cold, slimy hand grabbed her ankle and pulled, she fired a shot through the dresser and the door at anything that might have still been there. Using her free hand, she slowed her progress under the bed, her nails breaking, and floorboard splintering under her nails. She managed to sit up, aim the gun under the bed, and shoot.

Her ankle was freed. She shot again.

She had no idea if she hit anything or not.

Kate stood up and backed up until she was securely in the corner.

Silence.

Three shots left in her barrel.

Blood was dripping from her fingertips. She would need to clean and bandage them or else infection might set in, she noted idly through the mindless panic that drove her.

She didn’t want to move from her corner. She did not know what was happening, why Joe Barton grabbed her and who _crawled through the ventilation of her home_ to get to her, but she didn’t want to expose herself in that way.

Kate had neighbors on either side of her house. On the side across from her window were the Peterson’s, and elderly, retired black couple that survived two wars together and generally didn’t care what other people did, so long as they were nice and respected veterans. Kate adored them, as they often had babysat Adam for free when he was young enough for it.

(Once, back when John first visited Adam, Gilda, who had pretended to be a man to join her husband in the army during WWII and had then forged medical documents to prevent her son from being drafted during the Vietnam War, came up to Kate and said, “There’s something not right about that man.”

She only could have meant John. “How do you mean?”

“He’s trained in fighting.”

“He was in the military for the Vietnam War,” because John had told her that, nearly thirteen years ago, when she was so very stupid.

“Not in any kind of fighting I’ve ever seen,” Gilda said. “Something ain’t right about him. Don’t let him spend the night, Kate.” At this Kate laughed. “Kate, I’m serious—”

“He is not spending the night, don’t worry about that,” Kate reassured her. “He’s leaving as soon as he and Adam come back from the baseball game.”

Gilda nodded, face serious, and allowed Kate to show her out. From the porch, Kate watched as Gilda met with her husband on their porch. Kate watched as Stan waved to Kate from their porch as he settled down with a book on their rocking chair after disappearing into the house for a few minutes with Gilda.

Kate believed (and still does) that he had gone to get his handgun.

It hadn’t been necessary. John brought Adam back, safe and sound. The tension Kate had had all day left when Adam came back, pleased about the time spent with his father but not as excited about baseball as John had led him to believe he would be. (Kate wasn’t surprised.)

Still, even though John left without difficulty, she felt better for the presence of Stan and his gun.)

On the other side, which might still hear her if she screamed, was lesbian couple, one of whom was pregnant. They had recently moved the neighborhood, clearly trying to find a nice town that would welcome the mixed-raced, lesbian, expecting couple, and Katie was pleased to know that she and the Petersons had made them feel comfortable.

Without closing her eyes and moving her gun, Kate screamed as loud and long as she could. She wanted to tell her neighbors to call the cops, but right now, she wanted someone to come over because she felt the most at risk when she was alone.

She heard scrambling under the floor. She shot in that direction. Besides, gun shots were good. They would bring people to her. Perhaps they were already coming from the first two shots, she realized.

Sure enough, she heard Gilda and Stan yelling her name from outside the front door. “IN HERE! I’M BACK IN MY ROOM! I’M BEING ATTACKED, THERE’S TWO OF THEM, ONE WAS IN THE VENTS AND JOE BARTON WAS OUTSIDE MY ROOM!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

“WE CALLED THE POLICE!” yelled Stan. “YOU HERE THAT! THE POLICE ARE ON THEIR WAY!”

“WE CALLED THE POLICE, TOO!” Kate heard Leslie yell, one of her neighbors on the other side.

There was the scritch-scratching in her house, from outside her door, but with only two bullets left, she didn’t want to waste a bullet when her assailant (who was Joe Barton! Why would he do this?) might be leaving.

Kate wasn’t sure how long it was, but time both stretched to eternity and flew by like nothing before she heard the (wonderful, glorious, fantastic) police sirens. The entire time, her arms held her gun steady.

She had no idea if Joe Barton or his accomplice were still in her house.

“MS. MILLIGAN?” came from the stair case. That must be the police. “WE’RE THE POLICE! ARE YOU INJURED?”

“NOTHING SERIOUS!” she called out hoarsely. She hadn’t yelled like this in years. The footsteps thundered until they were outside her door. She heard the handle shook. “Just break down the door!” she yelled as loudly as she could.

They broke down the door, and two young men entered her room, armed and ready. When nothing happened, when no threat appeared visible, they lowered their guns. Kate lowered hers, too. Her arms felt stiff and brittle after being held up so long.

She was so very, very lucky that she had moved the gun to her bedroom.

...

Questioning by the police was arduous and lasted until the sun was beginning to creep over Windom. And that didn’t even include discussing what Kate was meant to do now.

“We’re going to have move you to a safe house,” said Officer Alan Jackson, a stocky, white man about Kate’s age. “Both for your protection and also to search your house for evidence.”

“What about my son?” demanded Kate. “Will he be a target?”

“Your son is... in Wisconsin, right?” Jackson asked, flipping through some files. “Since he’s not in the area, it’s unlikely that your assailants would go after him.” The police kept calling Joe Barton and his accomplice her ‘assailants.’ Kate did not feel assured that the police would pursue one of their former members as thoroughly as someone else. “You can call him now, though, because we need to let him know what’s going on. We’ll also call the police department near his university.”

Katie was given a phone, and left alone in the room. She called Adam.

“Mom?” he asked, confused but still had clearly been awake. Up early or didn’t sleep last night? “Why are you calling so early?”

“Sweetie, don’t panic.” Adam wasn’t prone to panicking anyway. Nor to worrying. Always quiet, so very calm, and a complete sweetheart. Katie was so lucky to have him, despite what his father may or may not be. “I was attacked last night.”

“ _What_? What happened?”

“By Joe Barton. And someone else I didn’t see. Joe came to the house and I let him in and he tried to grab me,” repeating the story for the _n_ th time was tiresome, but she wanted Adam to be armed with all of the knowledge she could give him. “It was... weird. I was able to run upstairs and grab my gun—”

“You own a _gun_?” came Adam’s surprised proclamation.

“Not right now, Adam. I was grabbed from under my bed through the vent, and it was only the gun that I managed to not be pulled through. So there was someone else working with Joe Barton.” The police said that they would have to inform Joe Barton’s wife of his crime, and get a warrant to search their home.

Kate knew Elizabeth Barton. Sometimes the other nurses and the doctors would go out for a drink at Barton’s bar. They had never been anything other than kind.

Christ.

“Adam, I want to you to defend yourself. I don’t know what this is about, but I would feel better if you were prepared,” finished Kate. “They’re taking me to a safe house, because they think that I was targeted specifically. I may not be able to call that much, but the police will give you an emergency contact if you need anything.”

Adam was quiet. She heard some shuffling and a door closing. “Do you think it has something to do with John?”

“I don’t know,” Kate admitted. She hadn’t thought Joe Barton would have had any connection to John. “I mean, why now? We’ve known Joe Barton for years.” Joe Barton had been a police officer in town when John had come on through. Kate had just finished her nursing degree and started in the town at the local hospital.

Had Joe and John met? Is that why Joe had always taken time for Kate and Adam?

And, now, attempted to kill her?

What sense did that make?

“I’ll ask the police,” decided Kate. “I should tell them about John anyway, just in case.”

They also discussed what Adam could do defend himself. They discussed pepper spray (definitely), knives (yes), and the baseball bat that was in Adam’s room (yes). Kate reminded Adam to always lock the door and the windows, even if his roommate didn’t want him to, and to not go out alone for a while.

When the call ended, Kate felt sick to her stomach with a worry that would be constantly present until the threat was gone. She was joined by another officer, Officer Maria Gomez, who offered to take the phone.

“Unless if there’s anyone else you need to call?”

Katie was straddling the fence between two options. She could tell Officer Gomez about John and what she knew about him. Or she could call him herself, right now, and see if anyone answered.

Kate hadn’t thought that John or his sons were alive. Hadn’t thought it at all, but if so, what would spur Joe Barton to try to kill her? And now that Adam had suggested the connection, Kate couldn’t help but worry it in her mind, turning it over and over until something must be done.

“I need to make one more call,” Kate said, with a closed-mouth smile. Officer Maria nodded, and left the room.

Katie had kept John’s contact information in her cell phone for all of these years. After their brief meeting all those years ago that resulted in Adam, John had left his phone number. To this day, Katie was not sure why, because John was very clear in what he expected from their relationship and he certainly didn’t intend for her to become pregnant, but he had left it anyway. It had been how she had contacted him when Adam finally convinced her that his father should know of his existence.

She pressed call.

The phone rang.

Maybe not dead, then.

It rang only three times before it’s answered. “Hello?” asked a man who was not John.

“I need to speak to John Winchester,” stated Kate. Her voice did not break. Her voice never broke, not even when she must help inform a patient of their terminal diagnosis, and it will not break when she spoke of the father of her child.

“He can’t come to the phone,” is the instant response. So they knew John. Interesting. “Can I help you?”

“My name is Kate Milligan, and I live in Windom, Minnesota. I met John Winchester in 1990 and he’s the father of my son. Last night I was attacked by a former police officer who might have known John, and has no other connection to me aside from that.” Kate finished, more irritated than the person on the other side of the line than they deserved. The stress was getting to her. “So you tell me; can you help?”

There was silence on the other side.

“Are you one of his other sons?” Kate asked, realizing that if this man had John’s phone, he might well be.

“John died more than two years ago,” was the sudden response.

“I figured as much. The official statement was that he and his sons are dead. So who are you? And again, can you help me?”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“What, do you want the details of how my son was conceived? Because that could take a while, I have a good memory.”

“No!”

“Well, then, google me. And my son. And I have a photo of John with Adam back at my house, but my home has been closed off by the police right now.”

“And your name’s Kate Milligan? What exactly happened?”

“Joe Barton, a retired police officer, attacked me suddenly last night,” Katie explained yet again. “When I got to my bedroom and locked the door, someone else tried to drag me down through the vent. And the way Joe was acting...” Katie hesitated.

“How was he acting?” the man asked sharply and attentively.

“He was so angry,” Katie responded in wonderment. She hadn’t explained this to the police. “But he was also... it didn’t seem natural, how he moved. Especially for such an old man.”

“Anything else?”

“I got a gun shot off into the person who grabbed me from under the bed. There was blood, but they were still able to get away through the vent and out of the house before the police came. That was a bit unusual.”

“We’ll look into it,” was promised. Before Katie could respond, there was a short, “We’ll be in touch.”

He hung up.

Katie still didn’t know for sure who she had been talking to.


End file.
